Why I Hate Lululemon

First of all, lets get real. Attending a Yoga class is a big trend for skinny, white, suburban women who pretend to be spiritual while exercising.   Men go too, but only if they have a Groupon.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I love, love yoga pants.  They are comfortable and I will even go as far as saying they are divine for any woman, of any size.  And I actually love doing (easy) yoga because I am far too lazy to do any other form of exercise. 

Lululemon Atheltica jumped on the yoga bandwagon and began selling their wares on the early wave of this trend and I can’t stand them and everything they stand for. And they are stupid expensive.  A status symbol.  The Louis Vuitton of the yoga world.  I would much rather spend the one hundred and some dollars on mounds of cheesecake or cigarettes.

Here is their logo.

I’m sorry.  That was a uterus. This is their logo.

I want to make this clear. Only skinny women can wear them.  If you go to a store or look online, the yoga pants only go up to a size 12. Is “sizeism” a word? And what size they give you is the size you get.  Asking for a larger size because you’re about to cough up your colon is blaspheme.  You are not allowed to do that.  Ever. Besides that, fat people can’t do yoga anyway.  They’re fat. 

Size 6 to 8 has clever names for clothing items:  “I Haven’t Eaten in Three Days”, “Smell Your Own Yoga Farts"  and maybe, "Unicorns Flow In My Chakras"

Size 10-12, (sizes for the morbidly obese) ”Push yourself away from the table”, “Land Whale” or “You are a Lard Ass”

The trend now is to wear them anywhere; that way you appear to either be going to yoga class or leaving one. But wait! They have patented fabrics to not only make your life more easy, they make the execution of Warrior II* much more warrior-like.

Silverscent ® prevents stinkage issues.  I mean who would go to Whole Foods after class smelling like ass gravy?  It’s not even vegan. Gross.

Nulu™—for that “next- to -nothing feeling with your must -have technical performance qualities.”  What does that mean?  Seriously.  Technical-performance qualities?  Isn’t that what Viagra is for?

My daughter drug me into a Lululemon store a few years ago. I too needed yoga pants with a uterus on them.  The sales person decided I was a size six.  They put me in a dressing room the size of an upright coffin, where I proceeded to have a skirmish with a piece of shit yoga pants.  My right leg was in. Whew.  My left leg was not so willing, I hopped around on one leg with the waistband at my knees, only to topple over, dead weight into the side of the coffin. My brain was sending me every possible pain signal it could. Tiger.  Shark.  Man with machete. No! No! Get these things off!  By now, I had already drawn enough attention to myself, so I managed to squeeze into them. 

“These are too tight” I explained.

“They have to be snug”

But, I think I am getting a yeast infection as we are talking”

“They need to be snug”

“But I don’t like them this snug.  Can I have a size 10?”

“They really have to be snug”

“I now have a belly apron.  I don’t usually have one.  This can’t be good.”

“Maybe you need a different waist band”

“Maybe I need a smaller body?  Isn’t that how this works?”

I was already done with this place. And I haven’t been back since.

Why is it that the eat-vegan-recycle-everything-I-only-eat-organic-equal-rights-for-everyone crowd wears these?  Because they like endorsing sizeism?    Get over yourselves.

Revolt people.  Revolt.

*I know, it’s really called Virabhadrasna, you asshole.

The Ten Stages of Aging: A Horror Story

Aging. It’s horrifying and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

These are the actual medical terms for each of the stages aging that no one will tell you.

What?  About age 45 or so, AARP  hunts you down, taps into all your information, filling your mailbox daily with ten pounds of recruitment propaganda that include stock photos of seniors engaging in shit that is supposed to keep you young.  You are not ready to deal with it.

 What the....? You now require reading glasses to see anything. The cure is relatively simple, go purchase those cheap reading glasses found at your neighborhood pharmacy.  Why the pharmacy?  Because you need to know where it is and rehearse how you get there.  It’s only a matter of time before you can’t remember where it is, so you begin demanding a delivery. It’s like a fun little inauguration into middle age.  Here’s your shitty glasses!  You are officially never going to feel sexy again! Ever! Deal with it!  And they have to be cheap because you are repetitively putting them in stupid places, like on top of your head, where you can’t find them.  It costs a small fortune to replace the fifty pairs a week you blow through. Texting and making phone calls are virtually impossible without them.

Seriously, What the....? An ice cube now contains the caloric content of a Big Mac. Happy trails metabolism!  Then menopause begins.  It’s marked by the sensation of volcanic lava coercing through your veins while grocery shopping. At this point, your ovaries are turning to dust, choking and gasping for a flow of nonexistent estrogen.  You hate everyone and everything.  Nighttime becomes a delightful swim in a sea of your own sweat, which causes insomnia, your new best friend. By morning you are ready to strangle any asshole that gets in your path. I lied.  You want to strangle anyone and everyone is an asshole.  Every evening you sit with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, going through old pictures, sobbing inconsolably as you reminisce about the body you once hated but now wish you had.  You even try Spanx, but those work for about three minutes, only because your central nervous system stops functioning.

Spanx?  No Thanx.

I am the Ayatollah (Goo-Goo G’ Joob):  Work it.  Own it.  You go to bed with a smooth face and wake up horrified by what you see in the mirror.  How does hair grow that much overnight?

Before bed

                                                       

The following morning                                                  

I no longer care: “I don’t give a shit anymore” becomes the mantra at this phase; you are now blind, fat and bearded.  What else can go wrong?  Can you say age spots, arbitrary pigmentations and weird skin conditions that contain at least six syllables?  Body parts begin a seemingly endless migration southward; it’s kind of like your body responding to “Honey, hurry!! There is only one trailer spot left in south Texas and we must get there today before the other snowbirds get it.”  That kind of mad dash. Your body harvests all kinds of strange things--bumps, nodules, hormonal zits, things growing out of things and things that grow inside of other things on top of things that usually require a frantic visit to the doctor.

You notice those cute ears your husband once had are now the size of Frisbees.  He develops a justifiable fear of walking through a park with a disc golf course. You can make intricate balloon animals out of those once perky boobs. You are terrified to go near a birthday party.  His balls are dangerously close to dragging on the floor and size wise, they could comfortably hold a liter of Rottweiler puppies.  Your knee caps can be neatly tucked into your socks. It’s super sexy.

Get off my Lawn:  You are angry and hateful because you just are.  Why not?  Now you tell everyone under thirty stories about how you didn’t have cell phones when you were a kid.  They don’t care.

Damnit! Did I leave the Burner On?  Now, you’re walking into a room and completely forget why you are there in the first place.  Your march with bold intention to the kitchen to get….what was it?  Fifteen feet ago you were confident in your mission, now you are scratching your head, saying out loud “Why did I come in here?”  This goes on most of the day, like a hamster on a wheel.  It’s like having Alzheimer’s, except you remember that you forgot something. Nothing gets accomplished, because you are merely trying to figure out what you’re doing all day—by the end of the day, you are exhausted from searching for everything.  Where’s my cell phone? Where are my keys?  Where are my reading glasses? Congratulations! You’ve become a mental embryo now. 

Dude Acts Like a Lady; In the middle of the night, you magically switch out genders by swapping hormones; He has enough estrogen to start having periods, while your testosterone levels are peaking so high you now have the balls in the family. Sure, you look the same, but you no longer maintain the specific roles you were once accustomed to. Back in the day (youth) the male impatiently waited in the car, as the woman was finishing up her hair and makeup.  Now, it reverses. You have already shaved and gotten dressed, waiting impatiently in the car.  The hub’s is trying to get his prostate, now the size of a canned ham to cooperate-- peeing like a sputtering sprinkler for thirty minutes.  He’s in the grocery store crying because he can’t find the Funyuns and you grumble “get over it”.   He wants chocolate.  You want motor oil.  See how it works?

Driving 15 mph in a giant Buick:  I’m not there yet, but the thought has occurred to me to restore one.  My husband cried.

Change my diaper!:  I’ll let you know.

© 2015.  Brin Thompson.  All rights reserved.

A Social Manifesto by a Green Guy Who Thinks He's a Bad Ass

My apologies in advance for having to take such radical actions. I feel it necessary to take such dramatic steps to make a change in this country. I am hopeful that it will. I am confident that the carbon footprint caused by my actions will make a tremendous difference in the following weeks to come.  It is my wish that I am seen as a trail blazer in taking such extreme measures to prove a point. 

Our government has become corrupt and is in dire need of restructuring. It has inflicted economic hardships affecting all people with the exception of the elite 5% of Americans who are wealthy. Therefore, until this has changed I am going to be really, really mad.


The public school system MUST change. It places far too much emphasis on teaching academic curriculum instead of raising self esteem. Is it not more important how a child feels about themselves? Parents must revolt against this system. I will no longer take my old magazines to the library exchange.

Government bailout monies given to Corporations has become an elitist financial pat on the back and rationale for giving out bonuses to the already wealthy. In protest, I will change back to the old incandescent light bulbs in my home.


Western Culture in general, has become lazy and obesity is prevalent among our youth. This taxes the health care system in very preventable ways and makes the rest of us pay far too much for health care. I am now forced to say and do unspeakable things. I am going over to my neighbor’s house right now and calling him “poopy pants” after I knock over his compost pile.


The term "family values" has become a rallying cry against the increase in nontraditional families in this country. Lack of structure and effective compassionate parenting in American homes has diminished the importance of “family” as a whole. I demand this changes radically or I will NOT take my old glasses and put them in a drop box for the Lion’s Club this year.


The agendas of politicians are created by lobbyists and not by the American People. I hope this changes too or not only will I be pissed off, I will be forced to go into the restroom of a corporate “home office” notorious for it’s lobbying, and leave the water running in the sink after I wash my hands.


The judicial system has broken down and unfair to those of low socioeconomic status. Adequate representation is no longer affordable for the average citizen. I am going to start using liquid soap.


Many politicians demonstrate proclivity to prioritize oil interests over human rights and the environment. This has a dramatic impact on the rights of women, children, the poor, grasslands and animals. Sadly, to make my point on this issue I will not do anything about soil erosion in my yard this spring.

If no changes occur, I will be forced to buy items with more packaging and driving my car an extra day every week until something happens.

Namaste.